


utopia

by halfaday



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Roommates, click to find out what, general doyoung crystallization, strangers to sort of something else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfaday/pseuds/halfaday
Summary: INT. ROOM #104 - DAY, NIGHT, NEVERENDINGThey're strangers, but MARK falls a little harder every day.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Mark Lee
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	utopia

**Author's Note:**

> imagine rooming with the upperclassman you have a crush on during the week-long movie festival you and your bff signed up to. (an important detail: you do nothing about said-crush) (but a Week spent living together… something’s gotta happen, right?)
> 
> thank you to lila for reviewing this <33

The door opens on a small corridor — cream-colored and leading to a more open space; two bunk beds and a large window that lets the late afternoon sun pour in freely, Mark will later find out. But for now, he knows nothing, and Donghyuck waltzes into the room, laughs as the sun warms his frame — Taeyong joins him, and strangers suddenly become a familiar pas de deux. With a timid smile, Mark turns to Dongyoung.

'After you?' he offers.

(There are more famous, _better_ first words. But Dongyoung doesn't seem to mind, unreadable expression not once shifting — he nods, simply, and mutters a _sure._ Hands Mark the second pass they were given earlier as soon as he's closed the door, and smiles, almost timidly, too.

 _I don't really trust these guys with it,_ he confesses. Behind him, Taeyong and Donghyuck bow to the sun. Mark understands, laughs — awkwardly.

 _Sure,_ he says, a mirror of Dongyoung seconds ago. He takes the pass.)

⁂

'Boring. That movie was absolutely boring.'

Mark observes Donghyuck as he wipes his wet hands on his pants — doesn't feel like fully standing on his two feet yet, and keeps on leaning against the wall, his own hands a cushion for his coccyx.

'I thought it was okay,' he says — means it: though the first hour of the movie was boring, the plot had picked up once the princess had run away, and he'd - enjoyed it, almost.

'There are much better movies.' Donghyuck rummages in the pocket of his bomber, takes out his wallet — looks at the vending machine as if he were a hunter, and the homerun balls on the fourth row his prey. 'But taste and objectivity are both obsolete, so I'll let it slide. Professor Kim won't give me a 100 for tearing it to shreds.'

Mark imagines the scene, laughs — it's true, he mutters.

'Of course it is. You know him.' Donghyuck slides his weapon into the slot, and watches as his meal falls into the compartment — gestures to the machine, magnanimous. 'Want something?'

Mark shakes his head.

'No, thank you.'

'Really?'

'Yeah.' Mark looks down — registers Yuta's laughter, far down the hall. He swallows, and straightens himself up, shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. 'Dinner is soon, after all.'

'Two mockumentaries away,' Donghyuck snickers — but he flings an arm around his neck, and shoves another ball into his mouth. Gestures to the hall, and invites Mark to head back. 'Come on, let's go. The snoozefest is only starting.'

⁂

The sound of the door shutting breaks the silence of the room, and Mark looks up from his phone. In walks Dongyoung, and he announces, softly,

'Reported.'

As if it were nothing to him, as if he was used to reporting loud neighbours.

(He looks like he is, Mark thinks. Seems like he is, as far as he knows.) 

(Not a lot, at all.)

Taeyong’s top bunk creaks, and its owner appears, trapezist awaiting for his stage to be secured — upper body dangling from the bed, and his accessory (a manga he bought earlier) hanging from his fingertips.

'Did they say anything?' he asks. 'The teachers, I mean.'

'No.'

Dongyoung takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes — looks a little less flawless, a little more human when he looks at Mark (!!) then Taeyong. Red puffy eyes and cheeks a pale shade of red — wrinkly forehead and sleepiness written all over his face. Endearing, Mark forbids himself to think, and he looks away, back at his phone -

'Will Donghyuck be done soon? I'm sleeping early, tonight. I can't handle this.'

\- back at Dongyoung, because the situation calls for it.

'Uh. Yeah,' Mark swallows the small lump that's formed in his throat, repeats himself. 'Yeah. Five more minutes, I think.'

Dongyoung nods — smiles, tiredly. Mark is unable to look away, and he feels his heart fall in his chest.

(Too bad — too good. One more sight to think about when he lies awake at night.) (He doesn't care about his heart, really.)

'Great.'

⁂

Behind on homework, he's asked Chenle to keep him updated about history (his long time nemesis), and he's frightened by the texts he's receiving.

'How about you care about the paintings and the exposition, Lee Mark? Your girlfriend can wait until the end of the trip, can she? At the very least - until the end of the day.'

The texts turn to black, and the cellphone is put back into its usual pocket. Mark bows, low.

'Sorry, sir. You're right. I'll be trying harder.'

 _I expect you to,_ professor Kim replies sombrely before leaving, and Donghyuck, witness of the entire scene, curses him quietly, then takes Mark by the arm, leads him to where the rest of their touring group is

— where Dongyoung, wearing Johnny's hoodie after spilling coffee on his jumper, is crouching down, tapping rapidly on his phone - while by his side, unaware of his surroundings, Taeyong is 'secretly' photographing a large piece.

'So much for not using technology,' Donghyuck sighs. 'Careful. Professor Kim is on a roll.'

Dongyoung makes a noise of negation, shakes his head.

'I'm allowed,' he says. 'I'm using my phone for our notes.'

 _You should have said the same thing,_ he adds, looking up at Mark, tilting his head — waiting for an answer, Mark realises belatedly, and he laughs off the advice awkwardly, shrugs.

'Mr. Kim doesn't really like me. And I was clearly not paying attention to the expo. I don't think it'd have worked.'

 _It's just homework anyway,_ he mumbles, scratching his nape, vainly trying to ignore his sudden nervousness (but if Dongyoung notices, he says nothing. Instead, he nods, curtly, and goes back to his (their) notes. He writes for a few moments, then stands up, and gestures to the other end of the room, where an artificial woman drowns in an artificial river.

 _Next up,_ he says — and they all follow.)

⁂

Mark clicks his phone alight, looks at the time — _3:25._ Rolling on his back, he sighs, wonders why he's awake — no need to pee, no embarrassing dream, no loud neighbours - and yet…

The door of the bathroom opens, and a brief stream of light comes into view — Mark is sure eyes lock with his through the dark, and he freezes, immediately shuts his eyelids. (Understands, as Dongyoung heads back to bed, as his sheets rustle.)

He feels stupid, childish for reacting this way - for not knowing how to act, when nothing has actually happened. Only Dongyoung, waking up during the night — needing a few seconds, minutes of humanity, and inadvertently waking him up — really doing nothing, at all, and yet

Mark sighs, rubs his face before turning on his side (at the very least, the wall will not shame him for being like this).

'Good night,' a gentle voice whispers, almost caring. Unexpected — Mark burrows himself deeper under his covers, clears his throat.

'Good night,' he replies.

The wall shall remember.

⁂

'So what's the essay about?'

Jaehyun ruffles Mark's hair, and offers him a candy from the gigantic bag he bought earlier — he takes a seat on Dongyoung's bed, and is immediately sent away by a hiss. 

Bashful, Mark makes some room for him on his own bed.

'Many things,' he finally says when Jaehyun is seated next to him — taking another candy, to warm his weary heart. 'The fifteenth century's conquests, and what it did to the country. Good, bad. Thesis, antithesis, conclusion. The usual.' A pause. 'I hate it.'

From his spot on the desk, Johnny snickers — later claps, as Donghyuck walks out of the bathroom, and the talk they were having about history and its flaws dies out while Donghyuck collects a few needed belongings when the night falls — becomes about their plans for the upcoming night, and Mark feels like a stranger, not concerned by the future events.

(He wonders if Dongyoung feels like this, too. But, nose in his book, focus poured into the lines he reads and nothing else — Mark believes it isn't.)

'You can still change your mind, you know.'

Donghyuck now wears his leather jacket, and his hand is on the handle of the door — he Knows, of course, and he's making sure Mark knows what staying at the hotel means. _Think it through,_ his words mean, and —

(Perhaps he's right. Perhaps Mark needs to rethink this, and realise whatever he harbors for Dongyoung, is quite frankly mere crystallisation, and nothing else. That it's not a captivated-by-his-book Dongyoung that will spare him two seconds of his day, and the night won't go at all like he wishes it did. 

Probably. Definitely. Donghyuck is never wrong.)

Mark nods, to himself. He nibbles on his bottom lip, then rises — collects his backpack, and puts his shoes on.

'No, thanks. I'll just see Kun. I'm sure he can help me out with the essay.'

He asks Donghyuck to wait for him, says it'll be a trade — ponders if he should turn to Dongyoung, roommate who is, at the end of the day, just as much as the stranger he was when they first walked into the room -

eventually gathers his courage and does it.

'I'll be back in two hours max,' he says.

(For no reason.)

On the door, fingernails execute a rapid rhythm — on his bed, for a millisecond, Dongyoung looks up. (Brown eyes settle in Mark's, for what feels like eternity, and his heart sinks — it is swallowed by quicksands before it can give its last breath, and standing in the middle of the hotel room

Mark dies.)

'Sure.'

(The door shuts on a paradise, and Mark's skeleton carries itself on its own until its eyes are closed.)

⁂

'Unique, isn't it? That's the first time I've ever taken this kind of bus.'

Donghyuck agrees — behind Taeyong, so does Johnny. On his shoulder, Dongyoung sleeps, and Mark wonders — was it the breakfast? The restaurant, and its questionable lunch? The day, not yet over - and nothing else?

He wonders.

Never gets an answer: halfway through the first movie, he falls asleep, and when he wakes -

Dongyoung is gone.

⁂

He timidly slides his tray across Yuta's — while Donghyuck, seemingly used to everyone now (already!), snuggles up to Taeil, and does not even get rejected.

'Feeling better?' he later murmurs as he, Taeyong and Dongyoung walk back to their room — shivering as the cold air tickles his naked arms, wishing he'd taken the weather of the capital into consideration.

(Remembering Dongyoung, a few days ago, drowning in Johnny's hoodie — his collarbones, his skin peeking as he bent down; the navy of the piece contrasting with his hands, his forearms, his neck; the messiness of his hair after he'd put the hood on — how pretty he was, and how Mark almost wishes he'd spill his coffee again.)

(The burgundy hoodie _Mark_ never wears, collecting dust as it hangs by the door of his closet — fitting Dongyoung a little more closely, and actually looking good on him — sending a message to others, perhaps (if only), and smelling of him after he's given it back, lingering in Mark's mind, lungs as he sleeps with it.

Or, maybe, spending the night on the floor, and what Mark would smell, feel, warm against his body, would be -)

'Yeah. I'll power through. It must have been one of the snacks we had.'

Mark blinks back into reality — a khaki jumper, dry, form-fitting. Tired eyes, and lips forming a thin line. He nods, more to himself than anyone else (Taeyong is singing to the void, and does not care at all).

'I see.'

The sun hasn't yet made an appearance in their room: their belongings bask in pale shades and here and there darkness. On the stairs of his bunk, Mark wraps himself in his coat, banishes the dangerous thoughts running in his mind — around him, his two roommates look for today's necessities, and

'You're not coming?'

Chatter filters into the room — Taeyong has gone, must be waiting by the door — Dongyoung, neatly folding his charger, is by his side, closer than he usually is. A desert takes shape in Mark's throat, and it takes time for him to find an oasis.

'I'll wait for Donghyuck. He doesn't have a pass, after all.'

He means it, partly (intends on catching up on sleep, if he has the time) — but Dongyoung doesn't care about truths and lies: he simply mumbles an _okay,_ and picks up his backpack.

(Reminds Mark to lock the door, as he hovers.)

'Sure. No problem.'

 _You said you trusted me, after all,_ he all but says. And because Dongyoung doesn't live in his mind, doesn't know what he thinks, he answers nothing and turns around — he bids him farewell, then closes, locks the door behind him.

 _See you,_ his voice lingers in the room — while silence settles in and the sun finally creeps into the room. Tired, warmer than earlier but still lacking, Mark casts a glance to his left — catches a glimpse of a folded cardigan, folded pyjamas, folded sheets, and imagines a scent.

He wishes he knew.

⁂

Somehow, he manages to make his way to the door — he yells out one last goodbye (gets a thousand back), then heads out.

'You're not staying?'

Kun holds a plant in his arms, smiles warmly at him — following the thousand goodbyes, Mark sees a thousand suns.

'No,' he shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts, gives a sad smile. 'I've been told by Chenle I have two hundred pages to learn by heart.'

 _Test on Monday,_ he adds, and Kun grimaces — wishes him luck, pats him on the shoulder before going back to his room (and as quickly as Mark felt accompanied, he is once again alone).

The walk back to his own room is short, one flight of stairs and a few meters spent wondering, in-between shivers, if it would be possible to cheat on his test (the fleeting thought, as he unlocks his door, that, against all odds (just like he'd expected), his last night of the trip will be spent anticlimactically, and the world will go back to spinning as soon as he gets home).

'Oh!'

(Or will it?)

Bathed in gold light, wearing a scandalously large yellow hoodie, Dongyoung stares at _him,_ glasses on his nose and confusion written all over his face. He sits at the desk, pen in one hand, notebook under the other.

'Yes?' he says.

(Mark vividly feels his heart drop to the floor.)

'I… I thought you were celebrating the end of the festival with the others. I didn't expect to find you here.'

Dongyoung laughs — for the first time, all thanks to him (!!). A gentle sound, warm (eclipsing Kun's thousand suns).

'No, sorry. I have a scenario due on the eighth, and I need to work on it.'

 _Does that bother you,_ he continues — and Mark only realises he's _teasing him_ halfway through a nervous apology — laughs, then, and shakes his head, slightly more confident.

'Not at all. I just don't want to bother _you._ I've got a book that comes long before hotel room parties.'

'Really? Which one?'

Mark strides to his bed, shows Dongyoung his copy of _Millimetres away from Freya's lover_ — takes a seat on his mattress as he exchanges a few more words with him, and eventually curls up on it once their talk is over, book held open on his knees, heart ready to delve into the world of Mrs. Haaland.

But his mind is caught in the nets of the past, and it thinks of yellow, of a silhouette sitting at a desk — it desires to stare at a now familiar back, and do nothing else — desires to feast upon the sight the night has offered to him and perhaps, get lost in it, until he no longer is himself — until he is merely a servant of the sun, and nothing else.

(But Dongyoung is warm, not hot — he's a decent temperature, not once aiming to harm, and he emanates calm — he radiates peace, and the want to be lifting others up, to be the one at their feet. He despises the idea of having servants, and probably would reprimand Mark for thinking this way.)

(If he knew — but he isn't in Mark's mind, and thus is ignorant. But Mark likes to think of it this way.)

He gives Dongyoung's back one last glance, then sinks into Norway's deepest lake.

_Would I be bothering you if I asked for a few minutes of your time? I may be in need of a brainstorming session._

Warmth, closer than it ever was, shared and appreciated.

_Of course not. Go ahead._

⁂

The bus they're riding home is dark shades of blue and green, and the soft light emerging from the neons above make Mark sleepy. He nestles against the window, shivers — _really_ wishes he'd taken the capital into consideration, but what's done is done.

(And if Donghyuck won't join him (if he prefers the back of the bus — Taeil — this much), then he'll simply power through, and hope not to get sick.)

'Hey. This seat taken?'

Mark opens his eyes to an unfamiliar face, a girl he barely knows — assuredly five hours of awkwardness, something he does not want to face today.

'Yes, sorry,' he lies. 'I'm saving it for someone.'

He dives back into darkness before she's even gone from his sight, and he hears her, quiet but angry mutters, rhetorical questions and bitter answers. (The temperature does not rise, and he crosses his arms, clenches his jaw.)

'You look cold. Need a cardigan?'

This time — it's a familiar figure that blesses Mark's eyes, and it triggers a heatwave that only finds solace on his cheeks — suddenly, the world is much warmer, and Mark, shyly, shakily, reaches out for the cardigan Dongyoung is handing him (the one he just took off, the one he was… wearing…)

'Really?' he asks, doubtful. He knows Johnny, after all, knows Yuta and Jaehyun.

'Yeah.'

(Dongyoung smiles, and it's all Mark really needs — he puts the cardigan on, and immediately lands upon a cloud of warmth — lemon-scented, with a hint of detergent and , something else, that he cannot pinpoint. Paradise, without the need for any pass — only a kind angel willing to show him around.)

'Is the seat really taken, or…?'

(Taeyong ditched Dongyoung, too, Mark learns — and Dongyoung really did not mean to come across as an opportunist, but for his defense, Mark Did look really cold, and really, he's been wearing tee-shirts all week, and frankly)

'Alright,' Mark laughs, pleased to get a glimpse of something he would have never thought shaped Dongyoung's personality. (He's a chatterbox! Unheard of.) 'It was a lie. But you can pretend it was the truth, and you were just…'

'The person you were waiting for?'

'Yep.'

A smile; tiptoeing to lay a backpack in the compartment above their heads — warmth, bumping into Mark's arm, Mark's entire side, and not once moving away.

'You sleeping off the trip back?'

'Yeah. I think so.'

'Alright.'

Silence then, and Mark closes his eyes — the bus departs, and the world spins just the same. 

'Sweet dreams, Mark.'

(Or does it?)

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/millesoirees)


End file.
